


Of wounded minds and wounded souls

by aStarryNight



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, post 2x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aStarryNight/pseuds/aStarryNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after the battle with the Mountain Men, Clarke and Lexa meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of wounded minds and wounded souls

It is several months before she sees Clarke again, and even that was by pure chance.

The whispers and rumours of Clarke taking down the Mountain Men reach her ears about a week after she made the deal, and it sends her mind whirling. What it meant for the alliance, what it meant for her people, and Clarke.

She worries for Clarke.

About the decisions she’s had to make in order to win, and how it has affected her. No one comes out of a war unscathed. It lingers on her mind no matter how much she tries to push her away.

She spots Clarke wandering on the edge of Polis’ boundaries, gripping a small crumpled yellow flower, a scarf poorly hiding her golden locks.

Even without seeing her face, Lexa can see the changes in her. The way her shoulders slump with the weight of everything she has done and how her steps are unsure, so unlike the confident leader she had seen before her decision, one who stood strong and determined.

She takes a moment to steel herself, before calling out, “Clarke.”

She sees her tense, ready to run or fight, Lexa is not sure, but she slowly turns around to face her, and the glance between them is one of understanding. She understands the burden that Clarke is under, the hollow, weary expression from doing what must be done.

“Lexa.” The name is heavy and rough against Clarke’s lips, her voice seemingly unused to being used.

“You came.” And that breaks through her mask, confusion lighting her eyes as they study the buildings behind Lexa.

“This is Polis?” It’s clear from her tone that she was not planning to come to the capital. And Lexa worries for Clarke’s state of mind and the weight she bears alone.

She leads her back quietly to her quarters to talk in private. Some stare and whisper, they have heard the stories of what Clarke of the Sky People have done, much like Lexa has, and Clarke is rigid and stiff, avoiding their eyes, so she warns everyone with a look of her own and they disperse. She will not let her people make her even more uncomfortable than she already is.

Inside, she motions for Clarke to sit, and she sags into the chair. There is an emptiness in her body, of one that does not know want to do now that the war is done. She remembers how all she wanted was her people safe and nothing more. Now that they are, she has nothing left except the memories.

There is a weighted silence in the air, heavy with impossible choices and the actions they have both committed, but Lexa knows there isn’t anything to say because she understands, she knows. Victory stands on the back of sacrifice, and they have both sacrificed much for their people.

And so they sit. Clarke stares into the distance and Lexa stares at Clarke.

She studies her closely, sees the dirt on her skin and clothes, the dullness and depth her eyes hold, her bloodied knuckles, and the tight line of her lips. She watches the way her fingers idly play with the petals of the flower, watches it falls apart in her hands and floats to the ground.

There is more blood on their hands than either of them wanted, but they did what they have to and now they must bear the burden of those choices.

Lexa wets a washcloth and slowly reaches for Clarke’s hand, giving her time to refuse, but she makes no movement. She cleans her hands, with a softness Lexa only allows herself in Clarke’s presence, wiping between the crevices of her fingers and the lines of her palm. She makes sure to wipe all the traces of blood away before wrapping them gently in clean bandages.

Clarke stares at her hands when Lexa is done. The red is gone but the feeling is not and Clarke isn’t sure if it will ever disappear. Her hands are smeared and covered in too much blood, sticky and drying on her skin.

Her breath hitches, a vice gripped around her lungs and she squeezes her eyes tight enough to see stars.

“Have you mourn, Clarke?” Lexa asks gently, as she rinses the washcloth and starts cleaning Clarke’s face, “You have won the war and your people are safe, there is no weakness weeping for those lost.”

Clarke barks out a brittle laugh, “I buried them. Three hundred and fifty six people, twenty four of them children. I killed them all and I buried all of them.” Her voice and hands tremble with the magnitude of what she has had to do.

“You did what you needed to do.” Lexa says simply. Clarke is a leader, and like Lexa, does what she must for the survival of her people. To save the many, she forsakes herself.

She takes her time washing Clarke’s face, and in this moment she looks so very young and very sad. Lexa cannot help but brush back a loose curl behind her ear and run her thumb across her cheek. Clarke’s eyes are full of unshed tears, her bottom lip starting to quiver in an attempt to hold back the swirling storm of emotions.

“I wanted them to die. For what they’ve done.” She gasps out, she clutches her face, starting to curl into herself as she continues, “But I didn’t want – I watched them burn, I watched them scream. I pulled the lever and I killed children, people who helped us, Maya. They all died because of me.”

“You made the choice to save your people. You made it because you are a good leader, Clarke.”

Her breathing becomes ragged and rapid, tears flowing down her cheeks, as she allows her emotions to come to the surface, brimming over the top with more than Clarke can handle.

“How am I supposed to – I don’t what to do now that I’ve…” she sobs and Lexa grabs her shoulders to steady her. She will be strong for Clarke for now, someone to lean on until she can stand on her own again.

“You live, Clarke. You live and eventually you will move on.” She stresses this point and brings Clarke into her arms, wrapping her in a strong embrace.

“But they don’t get to live.” Her voice is small, her head tucked into Lexa’s neck.

“Yes, however your people get to live. _We_ get to live. It will not be easy, and you will not forget. Such is the casualties of war. But you must focus on how your people are safe. Because of you, they are safe and will live to see another day.”

There is no point sugar coating reality. It will not help Clarke. The most she can do is to be her anchor and if Clarke allows it that is what she will do.

A shudder runs through Clarke’s body, “I tried to be good.”

“I know.”

Lexa lets her cry, lets her show and feel what she hides before everyone else, and when she notices how Clarke starts to sink into her embrace in exhaustion, she coaxes her to lie down on the long recliner with her. Clarke is still tucked by Lexa’s body, but she makes no comments, so Lexa continues to wrap her arms around her, pressing her cheek in Clarke’s hair.

“You will get through this. We all will.” She murmurs as Clarke’s eyes flutter close.

There is a deep breath and Clarke’s mouth curves up just a fraction.

“Okay.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on what I would like to see happen when Clarke and Lexa meet again. Thanks for reading. I'm mirrormanningtwins on tumblr if you ever want to talk.


End file.
